


Uncharted Territory

by ki_writing



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017), Call Me By Your Name - All Media Types, Call Me by Your Name - André Aciman
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Fix-It, Fix-It of Sorts, Happy Ending, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Oliver pov, POV Oliver (Call Me By Your Name)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-09
Updated: 2019-04-09
Packaged: 2020-01-07 11:23:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18409634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ki_writing/pseuds/ki_writing
Summary: Oliver had never been so afraid in his life. Even if he was slowly trying to recognize this hidden part of himself, he was yet to completely figure out and understand what he was feeling. Was he supposed to act on these feelings? He didn’t know. What he did know was that, the moment he saw Elio, something within him shifted, making him doubt if he even knew himself at all.(Prequel toDo you mind?)





	Uncharted Territory

**Author's Note:**

> i love oliver and i would die for him.  
> that being said, i just had to write this; it's basically a summarized (and not nearly as good) version of call me by your name (with little alterations to fit the story) from oliver's point of view — except it obviously has a happy ending. it's a mixture of movie and book verse. 
> 
> as i said, it's a prequel to my other story, [Do you mind?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15459888), so maybe you can check it out after, if you want :)
> 
> hope you enjoy!

Oliver’s first encounter with Elio was when he first got to the Perlman’s home in Crema, a little town in northern Italy. He remembered fondly the moment he arrived at the beautiful villa, how it was full of trees, full of life and breathtakingly amazing. Minutes after greetings and pleasantries, Samuel and Annella Perlman invited him inside the house, making their way to Mr. Perlman’s study. They’d continued with meaningless chatter. When Oliver sat down on a couch, Annella left the room. He could hear her speaking to someone just outside the door, though he wasn’t paying much attention. As professor Perlman was talking about his work, he sensed two people entering the room. The professor smiled and introduced them.

“Elio, Oliver. Oliver, Elio.”

That was when something involuntarily shifted within his being. He turned to face the direction of this Elio as he was standing up, and suddenly, he felt something that almost made him stop in his tracks. The moment he set eyes on this boy, he could feel something bubbling deep inside of him. _What is this?_ he’d asked himself, to which a small voice in the back of his mind had responded, _you know very well what this is_. He got himself out of the little stupor and realized Elio was offering his hand. He shook it. He held it a little longer than was normal, and promptly asked, “how you doing?” with a smile he hoped wasn’t strained – because he sure as hell had been feeling strained; he’d felt as though he couldn’t get a grasp of himself. The younger smiled. Oliver felt, yet again, something twist inside his belly.

“Nice to meet you. Elio.”

Oliver smiled at him and nodded. There was something about the way Elio said his own name that made him feel… _some way_. He gathered himself quickly and finally gained his cool back – or so to speak. In reality, he was almost certain that none of his internal turmoil had showed. To the other people in the room, he probably never lost his cool, apparently amicable, laid-back self. He was glad for his false confidence and his ability to hide his truest feelings.

That very moment, his first meeting with this beautiful, 17-year-old boy, changed him forever – even if he wasn’t aware of the fact just yet.

As he was drifting off to sleep that same day, he thought about Elio and what he’d felt upon seeing him for the first time. Even if he wanted to, he couldn’t deny that a part of it was pure and simple attraction towards the younger. This fact only conflicted him further, though. He was well aware of this kind of ‘ _lifestyle’_ , for his parents had always stated their strong disapproval regarding such things. Therefore, this all rang so wrong to him. Sirens were loudly going off inside his head, telling him this was wrong and that he should never, under any circumstances, act upon what he ‘ _thought_ ’ he was feeling. A loud voice – that sounded much like his father’s – in his head kept going off about how this was just confusion, how it was sinful to even think about the ridiculous possibility of him being attracted to Elio – or to any other guy, for the matter. But the thing is, Oliver knew. He’d always known, deep inside, that perhaps he… He couldn’t even complete the thought. He prided himself in always making his parents proud, in doing what they told him to do with no protest whatsoever. Sure, he made this own way through his late teens up until now, but he still did the things he thought would please them. Knowing his parents’ mindset, the young man had been in complete and utter denial for so long he’d forgotten, he’d lost a part of himself along the way. He tried to shut down his mind, and finally was able to get some sleep, albeit restlessly.

 

The next morning, after a quick shower, Oliver made his way downstairs for breakfast. He didn’t see Elio, nor heard any noises coming from the neighboring room. _He’s probably already at the table with his parents_ , he thought. As he was making his way down, the older took his time admiring the house. Every little detail added to the beautiful quirkiness of the residence. There were paintings lining the walls, stunning chandeliers, some bases with flowers here and there; the whole image was quite picturesque. Finally, he made it outside, right where the table were the Perlman’s had their meals was situated. The view was breathtaking.

“Wow, look at this!” Oliver spoke as he kept admiring his environment. “Good morning, professor.”

“Good morning, Oliver.”

“Was I out that long?” He was being his charismatic self.

“It seemed like it, huh,” responded Samuel with a smile.

Oliver then noticed Elio, sitting to his father’s left. He kind of just ignored him – not in a rude way, though. He was still talking to Mr. Perlman while the younger was busy grabbing some things to eat and seemed like he wasn’t paying much attention, anyway.

“Want some espresso?”

“I would love some, thank you very much.”

Annella then joined them outside. The woman made her way to take a seat to Elio’s left, right in front of the professor, and Oliver followed the movement. Briefly, he looked at Elio. His gaze remained upon him for a short while, the younger was looking down at his plate. Oliver, once again, felt something fuzzy in his stomach. He was glad he wasn’t caught by anyone in his little stare. Annella spoke again, making him turn her way. “Did you recover from your trip?”

“Ah, yeah I did. Thank you.”

As he was grabbing an egg to eat, Elio lifted his head and said, “I can show you around, if you want.”

Their gazes met, and Oliver was floored. What was going on with him? _You know the answer to that, pal_ , said the tiny voice. “Uh, that’d be great. Thanks,” he responded curtly, but with a smile directed at the younger.

Oliver asked if there was a bank in town, he wanted to start an account. Samuel said there was one; Elio would take him after breakfast, when he showed him around town. They were all chatting pleasantly after that, while they ate their breakfast. Oliver was happily eating his soft-boiled egg when Annella offered him to have another one, if he pleased.

“No, no, no. I know myself too well. If I have a second one, I’ll just have a third, and then a fourth, and then you’re just gonna have to roll me out of here.” As he spoke these words aloud, a thought crossed his mind: _do I really know myself, though?_

When they were done with breakfast, he was handed a bike he’d use during his 6 week stay. He and Elio made their way to town. Oliver was absentmindedly admiring the stunning scenery that surrounded them. They didn’t really speak much; it wasn’t too awkward, or perhaps it was, but he was ignoring it in favor of keeping his thoughts in check. He was so concentrated on not drifting into last night’s train of thought that he dismissively responded “later, maybe” to something the younger said about showing him this or that place. What he didn’t notice, however, was that his apparently indifferent politeness threw Elio off, upsetting him just a tad.

After setting up the local bank account, the pair grabbed some drinks and sat down on a table in the main plaza.

“What does one do around here?” asked Oliver thoughtfully.

“Wait for the summer to end,” said Elio. It looked like he wasn’t paying much attention, what with the book that was covering his face from view. _Two can play at this_ , thought Oliver as he pretended not to care about the small talk. “Yeah?” Elio put the book down, and the older looked his way briefly with a little smirk on his face – which may or may not have faltered a little when their eyes met. “What do you do in the winter? Wait for summer to come?”

“Well. We only come here for Christmas and some other vacations. Easter as well.”

“Christmas? I thought you were Jewish.”

“Well we are Jewish, but also American, Italian, French. Somewhat atypical combination.” Elio was fidgeting as he spoke. “Besides my family, you’re probably the only other Jew to set foot in this town.”

Even if it looked like Oliver was thoroughly unbothered, his mind was going nuts. He was barely paying attention to the conversation; gladly, it didn’t show – or at least he hoped it didn’t. He didn’t want to come off as rude. “I’m from a small town in New England. I know what it’s like to be the odd Jew out.” They smiled at each other and Elio let out a small laugh. “So, what does one really do around here?”

Elio had taken off his sunglasses. The first thought that came to the older’s mind was, _such mesmerizing eyes_. He shook himself a little, he’d been staring. Oliver was glad _he_ was still wearing sunglasses.

“Just read books. Transcribe music. Swim at the river."

“Yeah?” Oliver started grabbing his things. He didn’t think he could stay any longer trying to act unaffected.

“Go out at night, I don’t know,” continued Elio.

“Sounds fun.” Oliver knew he was doing just what he said he wouldn’t; he was being dismissive, borderline rude. He then stood up and put his things in his backpack. He had his back to Elio, therefore, he couldn’t see the confusion settling on the younger’s face.

“Alright buddy. Thanks for the help.” Did he really call him _buddy_? He made his way to his bike and so did Elio. He pretended nonchalance as he got on the bike, and threw in an “alright, later!” before heading off – to where, he didn’t know. He left the younger dumbfounded with his sudden departure.

In all honestly, he couldn’t have stayed any longer. In retrospect, he probably came off as cold and inaccessible, but that’s just because he was trying to hide these _unknown_ (very known actually, thank you very much) feelings, trying to protect himself. All of a sudden, he became a man who was dealing with feelings and emotions he’d been avoiding for the greater part of his life. It made him very nervous to be around Elio, so he left because he hadn’t known what to do with himself anymore.

And just like it happened the first time, he kept throwing in dismissive _Later!_ s when he needed to get himself out of situations – especially those involving Elio. He too started using “Later!” as to not say “no” when he wanted to say yes but simply couldn’t. Regardless, it became habit; even when it was no longer necessary, he kept spilling out the word.

 

Throughout the first week, Oliver started to pay more attention to Elio, his mannerisms, his way of reacting to things the older said and such. He observed not only because he liked Elio – yes, he had somewhat accepted that he _liked_ liked him, despite the voice in his head telling him how wrong it was –, but also because it was in his nature to read into people. (Oliver could read people easily, it was something he had always been good at doing. Just from a first meeting, he was able to figure out the inner configuration of a person within a few minutes, gathered only from a couple of sentences and a person’s body language and micro expressions. It was a gift, really.) And also because Elio had so much knowledge about a great deal of things, and having a conversation with him was always fascinating. It was during one of their many talks when he realized that, maybe, just maybe, Elio felt the same way he did. He wasn’t sure though, so he had to do something about it, test the waters.

It was his fifth day with the Perlman’s. That day, Oliver decided to start working earlier than usual, and Elio had joined him in the garden. Each of them had their unofficial-official spot there. As they were waiting for the table to be laid out and breakfast to be served, the older spoke. “Hey, Elio,” said Oliver to start a conversation.

“Yes?”

“Have you ever translated poetry?”

“Yeah, I have. Why, have you?”

“Yes. I’m currently reading Leopardi, but came across some verses that are impossible to translate.”

They had been speaking back and forth, neither of them realizing how such a simple and meaningless conversation could go on so far. While they delved deeper inside Leopardi’s world, they also joked about, fitting in several detours to the conversation. They translated the passage from one language to another, translating it yet again only to go back to Italian. When they were reading the last lines of the text, they burst out laughing; the closing lines had become so distorted translation after translation it was comical. Then, silence fell upon them. It was a brief moment when an opportunity for Oliver came to be. He stared at Elio; he was point-blank staring at him. He was sure his gaze was perhaps a little too cold and menacing-looking, but he didn’t know how else to stare at the younger in order to get his attention and try to decipher him. This was just his shy-self’s way of holding someone else’s gaze.

“Elio, how do you know so many things?” He kept on staring intently at him.

“Uh,” stuttered Elio. He looked a bit nervous. “Well, I’m a professor’s son.” He didn’t add anything else, and they both held each other’s gazes. Elio was the first to turn away while Oliver stood his ground. The younger looked back at him once again, and realized Oliver was still staring at him. He looked somewhat shy when he looked away yet again. The older could make out a faint blush in the other’s face. Huh. You could say it was then when Oliver became aware that perhaps Elio too felt something for him – which made something giddy bubble up inside him.

Oliver was afraid, and knowing Elio perhaps had similar feelings toward him frightened him even more. He wasn’t familiar with any of this. Was he supposed to act on his impulses? He wasn’t sure.

Upon a complex thought process put behind the action, a couple of days after the ‘blushing Elio’ episode, Oliver decided to do something. A lot of things could go wrong – he was terrified. But then again, if prompted a positive reaction, things could flow easily between the two of them. They were all gathered playing volleyball. Elio was among the crowd watching the friendly match in which Oliver was involved. After a short break, the latter ran to Elio with the pretense of grabbing the bottle of water the younger was holding. Just as he began drinking water, he put a friendly arm around Elio and massaged his shoulder gently. After a second or two though, Elio recoiled. Oliver was sure he was about to melt into the touch, but suddenly the younger stiffened and got free of his grasp.

The older played it cool. “What’s the matter, are you all right? Did I pinch a nerve or something?”

“I’m okay,” responded Elio with a blank look, staring straight ahead.

“Here, hold this,” said Oliver as he handed the water bottle to the other. “Trust me. I’m about to be a doctor.” He started properly massaging, with both hands, the general area where he’d touched him.

Elio remained still for a total of 2 seconds before he got out of Oliver’s grasp and moved away from him.

Oliver wasn’t going to leave it at this. He grabbed the younger by the elbow and said, “hey, hey, come here.” He resumed his massage. “See, this is the problem. You’re too stressed! You have to relax a little bit.”

“I am relaxing.”

Oliver noted he was kind of upset, responding curtly with a small frown on his face. He called Marzia, who had also been among the small crowed watching the game. “Marzia, come here for a sec. Back me up here.” He guided her hand towards Elio’s shoulder. “Feel that? Right there. It’s too tight, right?”

“Yeah.”

“He needs to relax!”

The other players then started calling Oliver’s name multiple times for him to come back to the game. He’d have to think about this little exchange later to figure out what would have to be his next move. With no further ado, he threw in a casual “later!” to the pair and was gone.

 

Oliver decided to back off. After a lot of pondering, he figured perhaps Elio was just as scared as he was regarding his emotions. Or he could have read it all wrong and Elio could have felt absolutely nothing and he just plainly disliked him, was disgusted even – but Oliver was confident that this was not the case. There were a couple of other instances that led him to think Elio liked him in the way he hoped. There was this particular one, where Elio played one of Bach’s pieces in the piano, altering it to what Oliver wanted to listen to originally. They bickered back and forth with little smirks on their faces. Anyone who would’ve caught the exchange could’ve said they were practically _flirting_. All that being said, Oliver had to admit he was still scared. He’d been trying to wrap his head around this whole situation practically since the day he realized what this all was; yet, he still couldn’t quite accept _that_ part of himself that had been in the shadows for so long.

 

One morning, Elio was talking to Oliver about some book his mom had been reading to him and his dad. Oliver’s mind was elsewhere, he was staring straight ahead, his back to Elio. He spoke absentmindedly, “oh, yeah. About the knight that doesn’t know whether to speak or die?”

“Right.”

“So, does he, or doesn’t he?”

“‘Better to speak’, she said,” Elio paused. “But she’s on her guard. She senses a trap somewhere.”

Oliver got himself out of his trance-like state and shook himself subtlety. “So, does he speak?”

“No. He fudges.”

“Hm. It figures,” responded Oliver as he turned around to face Elio. They both smiled at each other. The silence stretched for a while, then Oliver had an idea.

“I have to go to town in a little bit to pick some things up.”

“Oh, I can go. I’m not doing anything today.”

“Then why don’t we go together?” Oliver shrugged feigning nonchalance. He was trying so hard to appear unaffected he didn’t realize he was showing the complete opposite.

“Right now?”

“Yeah.” He stood up abruptly, then, “right now. That is, of course, unless you have more important business going on.” He smirked at Elio for good measure. With that, they grabbed their things and off they went.

Once they were at the town’s plaza, Oliver went inside a store to buy cigarettes. He offered one to Elio, which he accepted easily. They were making their way to the Piave monument.

“Not bad, huh?”

“Not bad at all.” As an afterthought, Elio added, “I thought you didn’t smoke.”

Oliver turned to him. “I don’t.” Truth is, he had picked up on the habit after a few days in Crema. They both left their bikes leaning on the fence around the monument. “So, World War II, huh?”

“Oh, no,” said Elio. “This Is World War I.”

Oliver hummed in response.

“You’d have to be at least 80 years old to have known any of them.”

“I’d never even heard of the Battle of Piave.”

“Battle of Piave was one of the most lethal battles of World War I. Hundred and seventy thousand people died.”

Oliver stared at Elio as he asked incredulously, “is there anything you _don’t_ know?”

Elio had been looking at the monument, and turned to the older as soon as he heard him speak. He laughed self-deprecatingly, shook his head. “I know nothing, Oliver.”

Where was Elio going this this? “Well, you seem to know more than anybody else around here.”

“Well, if you only knew how little I know about the things that matter.”

“What _things_ that matter?” Was he… talking about what Oliver thought he was?

Elio remained silent for a while. “You know what things,” he responded finally.

Yes, Oliver knew exactly what things. It astonished him how Elio and him always seemed to be on the same page, having a synchronization of sorts. He felt like this conversation was rather important, and that, maybe, just maybe, after this, things would change between them. “Why are you telling me this?” he wondered out loud.

“Because I thought you should know,” Elio said, but it sounded more like a question.

“Because you thought I should know?” Oliver was pushing his buttons.

Elio shook his head slightly. “‘Cause I wanted you to know?”

Oliver only looked at him and remained silent before he started making his way around the monument. He could make out Elio faintly repeating “because I wanted you to know” several times. They met again at the other side of the monument.

“Because there’s no one else I can say this to but you,” continued Elio.

Oliver pretended to be deep in thought for a short while. He took a drag of his cigarette. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” He was stalling, buying himself some time. For weeks, he’d been hoping against hope to have this kind of improvement in their relationship. Now that the situation presented itself, however, Oliver was scared shitless. He started doubting himself tenfold.

Holding his gaze, Elio nodded in response.

Silence ensued. Then, “don’t go anywhere. Stay right here,” said Oliver as he made his way to see his translator. The office was just a few steps away from where they were standing. He listened to Elio’s distant response, “you know I’m not going anywhere.”

As soon as Oliver entered the establishment, he went straight to talk to his translator to grab his sheets. There had been some confusion, things weren’t correctly translated, this or that, he wasn’t paying much attention. His mind was in the conversation that had played out minutes before. He was a coward. He wanted to back out. The fact that he had, once again, started to accept himself as he truly was didn’t mean he wasn’t maybe a little too ashamed of himself. His parents’ words resonated in his mind. He stood for a while, took a deep breath, and made his way back to Elio.

“They mixed up all of my pages. I’m gonna have to retype this whole thing. I’m not gonna have anything to work on this afternoon. This is gonna set me back a whole day!” As Oliver spoke, he was making his way back to the bikes. Elio followed suit.

“Damn it,” muttered the younger. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

Oliver thought for a few seconds. “I’ll pretend you never did.” If he was giving Elio or himself – or maybe both? – a way out, Oliver didn’t know. But he was kind of grateful for this. He just hoped he didn’t hurt the younger’s feelings, somehow.

“Does that mean we’re on speaking terms but not really?”

Even Oliver was tired of their little episodes of nice camaraderie to then complete silence, ignorance, pretended indifference to one another; but he hadn’t known what other way to go about the situation. Every time he gave Elio his _stare_ , the younger seemed to back off slightly and close himself off. So, Oliver always went the extra mile to do the same, maybe even doing a better job at it than Elio.

Right then, though, Oliver had to make sure Elio understood why he said what he said. “It means we can’t talk about those kinds of things,” he whispered. “Okay?” Elio nodded. “We just can’t,” finished Oliver.

Since Oliver had a free afternoon now, Elio said he’d take him somewhere. A beautiful place with a beautiful view, he’d said something along the lines. So, they biked their way, as if nothing had happened.

On the way, Oliver’s mind was racing a thousand miles per minute. He was going crazy, caught in the crossfire of his own conflicting thoughts. His body, and dare he say, _his heart_ , told him to go with it, act upon his feelings and impulses. But his mind had tremendously different ideas.

Oliver had never been so afraid in his life. Even if he was slowly trying to recognize this hidden part of himself, he was yet to completely figure out and understand what he was feeling. Was he supposed to act on these feelings? He didn’t know. What he did know was that, the moment he saw Elio, something within him shifted, making him doubt if he even knew himself at all.

They made it to the edge of a cliff, away from the main road. The scenery was exceptional. There were a lot of trees, and the whole area emanated peacefulness. Elio placed his bike against one of the trees; Oliver did the same.

“This,” started Elio, “is the spot where Monet came to paint.” He showed Oliver the way up to the berm. “Take a look.”

A quiet cove stood below them. Not a single sign of civilization anywhere. A little farther out, a belfry was visible. If you strained your eyes, you could even see all the villa’s that lined the town. The view was astonishing; its beauty left Oliver at a loss for words.

“This is my spot,” Elio continued. “All mine. I come here to read. I can’t tell you the number of books I’ve read here.”

Oliver quickly raked his mind to find something to say. “Do you like being alone?” he asked.

“No. No one likes being alone. But I’ve learned how to live with it.”

“Are you always so very wise?” Oliver was teasing, he hoped his tone wasn’t mistaken with condescendence.

“I’m not wise at all. I’ve told you already, I know nothing. I know books and I know how to string words together. But that doesn’t mean I know how to speak about the things that matter most to me.”

Oliver had tried to vanish that conversation, brush it off away when the opportunity awakened. However, the better part of him was glad the subject was being broached again. “But you’re doing it now – in a way.”

“Yes, in a way. That’s how I always say things: ‘in a way’.”

Staring out at the offing, Elio sat down on the grass. Oliver had been crouching a few feet away from the younger, listening to him talk without actually looking at him. A tiny part of him wanted to run off and avoid this altogether – but the bigger part wanted to see how this all played out. He was processing Elio’s last words. “I like the way you say things. Don’t know why you’re always putting yourself down, though.”

From the corner of his eye, he saw Elio shrug. “I don’t know. So you won’t, I guess?”

Oliver was surprised. He faced him and asked, “are you so scared of what others think? Of what I think?”

The older was waiting for a response – which never came. So, he held Elio’s gaze, staring at him like he’d done so many times already. This time though, unlike the others, the younger held his gaze steadily. He didn’t break eye contact once. It was as if he was defying Oliver – and he supposed he was; a challenge is what it was. He was caught off guard, since this was, after many failed attempts, the first time his stare had gotten him the desired result.

It was Oliver who broke the silence that had engulfed them. “You’re making things very difficult for me,” he said, without backing out from their staring contest. Elio didn’t back out, either.

“Why am I making things difficult?”

His anxiety levels shot up instantly. His mind was all over the place: wanting, not wanting, giving in to his desires, listening to the threatening voices in his head that kept telling him to stop this nonsense. Oliver’s heart was beating faster as the seconds sped by, but he kept his cool and masked his nervousness with fake bravado. He took a breath and said, “because it would be very wrong.” He wasn’t going to try and deny everything off the go, but he wasn’t about to dive in head first, either.

“ _Would_?” asked Elio, with a tint of hope in his tone. Oliver didn’t know what to make of it.

“Yes, _would_. I’m not going to pretend like this hasn’t crossed my mind before.” He was being brass. He realized, belatedly, he sounded slightly overwhelmed.

“I’d be the last to know.”

Was Elio being serious? Oliver thought he’d made it clear  there was some kind of interest from his part. “Well. It has. There!” He knew he exuded exasperation. “What did you think was going on?” he asked in a more calmed tone.

“G–going on?” He fumbled. _Maybe I really did catch him off guard_ , Oliver thought. Elio continued, “nothing.” Pause. “Nothing. Nothing.”

“I see,” Oliver finally said. “Well – you’ve got it all wrong, _my friend_.” He paused and added as an afterthought, “if it makes you feel any better, I have to hold back. And I think you should, too.”

“The best I can do is pretend I don’t care.”

There. Oliver knew it. He wasn’t stupid, but this confirmed his suspicions. They were both playing at this game, though now he knew Elio had been oblivious to it. “That much we’ve known for a while,” he responded. It sounded less rude in his mind. He quickly glanced at Elio – who thankfully wasn’t looking at him – and saw a flash of hurt grace his features. Great. He’d hurt him. He didn’t mean to do that! He should’ve thought things through before speaking those last words.

After that, they spoked about little nothings for a while, until the conversation died down. They remained silent. Where would they go from there? This conversation had opened a number of doors leading to a great deal of opportunities. This had silently ignited a ray of hope inside Oliver. He was broken out of his reverie by Elio’s hushed voice.

“So… this is where Monet came to paint,” he said as a way of coming full circle with the conversation. “I’ll show you at home. We have a book with wonderful reproductions of the area around here”

“Yes, you’ll have to show me,” he responded absently. Though he noticed in his own voice a hint of patronizing air to it. Damn it. He just let the matter go.

They were both lying on the grass, each leaning on one arm, staring out at the view ahead of them. Oliver wanted to talk to Elio – about anything, really. The whole exchange left him with a bitter taste in his mouth. Had he been condescending? Too rude, perhaps? Had he crushed Elio’s hope, and his own in the process? He should have said something else, not that this was all very wrong and that they should restrain themselves.

And so he started a new conversation, stating truthfully, “Elio, you’re the luckiest kid in the world.” He really was, in Oliver’s opinion. As far as he knew, the younger had a great life that could make anyone envious: a great childhood, filled with warm love and understanding from his parents, a comfortable lifestyle, a good set of people surrounding him, all the knowledge available at the palm of his hand, and so many more things.

“You don’t know the half of it.” He remained silent for a little while. He didn’t know exactly why, but it made Oliver happy that Elio knew what he had; he was certain the younger didn’t and would never take anything for granted (even if he was a little brat at times). Elio continued, “so much of it is wrong, though.”

“What? Your family?” asked Oliver, puzzled.

“That too.”

“Ah. Living here all summer long, reading by yourself, meeting all those people at your parent’s dinner drudges?” Oliver tried to make light of the situation. He was also kind of making fun of him.

Elio turned to him a little, with a smirk on his face. “Not what I meant.”

Oh. “Us, you mean?”

Elio wasn’t responding, but that in itself was all the answer Oliver needed. He had to do something. He didn’t want to let Elio down in any way, and he also needed further confirmation to all he was feeling. He needed to put his finger on his exact feelings and emotions. It had to be all or nothing.

“Let’s see, then…” he said. Oliver inched closer to Elio – closer than he’d ever been to him before. They were only separated by a few inches. The situation seemed surreal; he was beginning to ask himself whether he was dreaming or not – it really did feel like a dream. He could feel something summersaulting in his stomach, making him giddy. He was studying Elio’s face to detail, as if he wanted to memorize every line, every curve, all of his birthmarks, each and every one of his freckles. The younger probably felt the intense gaze on him, for he started blinking a little too fast before turning to face Oliver. Slowly, the older brought his index finger to Elios lips; they were soft to the touch. His finger first traveled from left to right, right to left, on the younger’s nether lip, caressing it delicately.

Oliver smiled. This was it. If he did as he desired, there would be no turning back. They would reach a point in their _relationship_ where they wouldn’t be able to pretend nothing had happened between them. Was Oliver capable of risking his friendship – if you could even call it that – with the younger? Could he overcome his own fears? He had to take a chance, and hope for the best. He didn’t want to be left with bitter ‘what if’s. So, before he could start overthinking, he closed the gap between them, and suddenly his lips were kissing Elio’s mouth.

The first thing that crossed his mind was how wrong this all was. He shouldn’t have been doing, _feeling_ , any of this. It was _all_ wrong. But then the little sensations intensified. He could almost say he felt butterflies in his stomach, as cheesy as that might’ve sounded. He knew he was thinking like a 15-year-old girl, but that’s really how he felt – and there was no point in denying it any further. Oliver had kissed a handful of girls in his 24 years of life, sure. But he’d never felt what he did when he kissed Elio. And he was sure it wasn’t only because he was the first male he’d ever kissed (which, he wasn’t the first – but he’d blocked all those memories away; he’d go back to thinking about this when he wasn’t so preoccupied with Elio’s mouth), it was also because, well, _it was Elio_. Everything made perfect sense in his mind, dare he say in his heart, even.

Elio had barely responded when Oliver ended the kiss. “Better now?” he said with a little smirk. He would never admit to it, but he was a little breathless. The younger didn’t respond, at least not verbally. He lifted his face to the older’s and kissed him again, but with more passion, it seemed; almost savagely. Oliver loved it and couldn’t get enough of it. He held Elio’s face with the palm of his hand, and could sense him surrendering to his touch – all the while Oliver keeping a safe distance between them. When it became too much, to the point where he just _knew_ he wouldn’t be able to hold himself back, he ended the kiss. He carefully pushed Elio away.

“No, no, no,” said the older. “I think we should go.”

“Why? Not yet.”

“I know myself, okay? We’ve been good,” he said. There was still a small part of him that was, well, _mortified_ , with his situation. Oliver _kissing_ a _boy_? What would his parents say? He said his next words with that on his mind. “Neither of us has done anything to be ashamed of. Let’s keep it that way. I want to be good.” Actually, scratch what he’d been thinking about being ashamed. He didn’t want to be ‘ _good_ ’. He wanted to keep kissing Elio, to keep caressing him, holding him close. Take his clothes off, do some other unspeakable things… He needed to get his mind out of the gutter.

“Don’t be. I don’t care. Who is it to know?” After his words, Elio’s hand came into contact with Oliver’s crotch. He may have seemed unaffected by it, but in reality, his mind had drifted to dark, dirty places. He needed to get himself together. Calmly, Oliver let his hand rest atop the other’s and faced him with a tight-lipped smile. He then intertwined his fingers with Elio’s, and lifted his hand gently. Unbearable silence then settled between the pair.

Finally, Elio spoke, “did I _offend_ you?” There was a hint of defiance in his voice.

“Just don’t,” Oliver simply responded, his strained smile growing. He probably sounded like he was brushing Elio off. But, right now, they needed to get going before the older wouldn’t be able to stop if they continued.

Oliver promptly stood up and gave his hand to Elio to help him up. The first suddenly felt a sharp pain and winced. Right, his scrape. He’d gotten it the other day, when he fell off the bike. He lifted his shirt and inspected it.

“I should make sure this doesn’t get infected.”

“We can stop by the pharmacist on the way back.”

“Good idea.”

And that was that.

 

Later that same day, while waiting for dessert to be served, Oliver acted – once again – on impulse. He’d been thinking all day about the fervent kisses he’d shared with Elio. He wanted _more_. In the least, he needed some sort of contact to appease himself. That is why he found himself playing footsie with Elio under the table. Obviously, it was out of everyone’s sight. His right, bare foot sidled up to the younger’s left, brushing it softly. He studied the younger’s face carefully, looking for any changes in his demeanor. Elio’s face didn’t give much out, he stayed put; however, after a brief moment, he withdrew his foot. Oliver didn’t think much of it; he had probably startled the younger. A few seconds passed by, when he suddenly felt Elio’s bare foot make contact with his once again. When he felt his touch, he instantly placed his foot over Elio’s, as if nothing had happened. He began caressing it softly, gently, reverently. To his delight, the younger didn’t remove his foot this time, and played along. The last thing Oliver wanted was for him to be off-put by today’s events at the berm. He had hoped this little game would lighten the situation and would make Elio see that it was okay. What he wasn’t expecting, though, was for Elio’s nose to start bleeding. Had _he_ been the cause of it? Had Oliver’s action caused such distress for his nose to start bleeding, out of the blue? He watched the younger excuse himself from the table, muttering something along the lines of “it’s okay, it happens all the time”. Oliver was worried. He let a considerable amount of time pass by before he too excused himself, going inside the house in search of Elio. He found him sitting down in a secluded corner, holding a table cloth, with what he presumed was ice, to his nose, head perched on the wall behind him. He made his way to him.

“Elio? You all right?” He kept walking towards Elio as he spoke.

The younger turned to Oliver and said, “sit for a second.”

“If you insist,” was the older’s answer.

He sat down in front of him, leaning back into the wall to Elio’s left. They were sitting close; Oliver’s right thigh was touching one of Elio’s bent legs.

“Was it my fault?” He was referring to the nose bleed. He wanted reassurance that it wasn’t his fault, although, deep down, a part of him would have been very amused if it were his actions that caused this effect on Elio.

“No,” responded the other, shaking his head lightly. “I’m a mess.”

Oliver was looking at him, but averted his gaze to the bloodied cloth in Elio’s hand. A new wave of worry washed over him, but he tried to hide it. He looked down and sighed. Without putting much thought into it, he ran his hand down Elio’s leg, letting it rest at his ankle for a short while. “Well, the kitchen table sure is,” he laughed a little and smiled. He wanted to make light of the situation. He then proceeded to grab Elio’s foot, bringing it closer to him. He massaged it carefully at first, but then pressed hard in a specific area. He heard Elio hiss in pain before he grabbed Oliver’s right arm and squeezed hard. The younger’s hand lingered there, making his way to Oliver’s shoulder, touching softly, squeezing lightly, almost as if he was massaging him. It made Oliver feel _some_ kind of way.

“Where’d you learn how to do that?”

Elio’s voice surprised Oliver out of his thoughts. _What is he talking about_ , he thought. _Right, the foot massage_. He turned to the first with a little smirk on his face and then turned his attention back to Elio’s foot, continuing his generous ministrations. “My bubee used to do this for us when we were sick.”

He could feel Elio’s intense gaze upon him as he kept touching and massaging his shoulder and upper back, right below his neck. “Trust me, it helps,” added Oliver. As he said this, he felt the younger’s fingers travel farther up, touching his neck and ear lightly. It sent a slight shiver down Oliver’s spine; he hoped Elio hadn’t noticed. He was trying hard to keep his concentration on the foot massage, but these light touches were driving him crazy. Oliver’s shirt was unbuttoned, therefore, he felt the touch of Elio’s fingers on his chest. He sighed involuntarily, but, otherwise, his sudden distress –– to grab Elio by the neck, regardless of his tender nose, and kiss him senseless –– didn’t show.

“I used to have one of these,” said Elio, grabbing Oliver’s neckless of the Star of David.

“Used to?” He turned to face Elio as he spoke.

“Yeah.”

“How come you never wear it?”

“My mom says we’re ‘Jews of discretion’,” responded Elio.

“Well, I guess that works for your mother.”

“Funny witch.” They both looked at each other and laughed.

Oliver continued his same treatment on Elio’s other foot, pressing hard once again. This time though, Elio hissed louder, bunching the older’s shirt in the process. His hand had still been touching Oliver, even through their little exchange.

“Fuck, you’ll kill me if you do that,” said Elio through gritted teeth.

His selection of words made Oliver smirk. “Well, I hope not.”

Another hiss. He massaged the foot lightly one last time, before continuing onto his leg for a brief moment. Oliver wasn’t even thinking about it until after he’d done it, but he grabbed Elio’s foot with both hands and kissed it tenderly. He caught himself off guard. However, he didn’t fail to notice Elio’s small, warm smile at the action. They exchanged a meaningful look that spoke volumes.

He’d told Elio that he would stick around, in case he needed anything, but as soon as he said those words, he knew he’d been lying. He just spoke with what he _wished_ he’d do. He needed time think, to process the day’s happenings. He was out in town until very late, smoking, drinking, playing poker… never once having any kind of contact with Elio – except for when he checked up on him at around 2:30am, but the younger had been already asleep. “I’m sorry, Elio,” he’d whispered, barely audible, before he’d retrieved back to his room.

 

Days went by and he didn’t have much contact with Elio. Sure, he saw him every day and was in his immediate reach, but that only made it so much worse. They were pretty much ignoring each other, and Oliver wasn’t going to pretend like it didn’t affect him. It hurt. However, he decided not to do anything about it. He figured he could use this time-out to try and sort out his mind properly. He kept working on his manuscript, helped the professor with his correspondence, and played poker every other night.

After everything that took place the last couple of days, starting with the kiss at Monet’s berm, there was decidedly no turning back for Oliver. There was no way in hell he could have gone on about with his life as before. He wasn’t intending to be dramatic when he thought about this, but he was a changed man. He still had a long way to go, but he felt like he was inching towards the right direction – the direction regarding his growth as a person, his acceptance of things that scared him but were a part of him, had always been a part of him; the right direction towards his own happiness and his being comfortable in his own skin. He spent countless nights in his spot outside, hidden from view, thinking about how his life changed in the blink of an eye – and to think that Elio had been the catalyst? Unbelievable. All it took was for him so find something, someone, that made him want to be a better person, not only for everyone else, but for himself. He liked this renewed version of Oliver much better than the last. He was at the brink of reaching something important, on the brink of finally getting rid of that stupid costume he put on every single day of his life.

Elio was so special in a way the younger wasn’t even aware of. There had been instances that could’ve been seen as meaningless to an outsider, but to Oliver? They meant everything. Like that one time when he was going on about how something he’d written didn’t make any sense to him anymore, and Elio had said something like, “maybe it did when you wrote it.” The younger had been stunned when Oliver said those where the kindest words said to him in months, but he meant it. He never showed it, but he was always very hard on himself – so much for being perceived as laid back and a bit careless. So, naturally, those words put his mind at ease in a way he hadn’t experienced in a very long time. There was also that time when Elio gifted him a book, to which he’d written the inscription, _Zwischen Immer und Nie, for you in silence, somewhere in Italy in the mid-eighties_. Again, that simple – yet very significant – gift had been the best thing he’d received all year, and he’d told Elio as much. Although, Oliver liked Elio so much that probably any gift from him would mean the world to the older. He liked him so much he even accidentally spilled it to Annella one day, very early on, when he wasn’t even as sure as he is now.

His mind drifted to that pending conversation with himself that popped inside his head the day he kissed the younger. Elio hadn’t been his first kiss with a man, not his first crush on someone of his same sex. There had been someone when he was is middle school. At such age, he wasn’t concerned with anything of the sorts. That is until he accidentally developed a crush on his _male_ best friend. It didn’t go right. There was a long period where their conversations were constricted and awkward after Oliver decided it was a good idea to kiss him. Time passed and they were okay – well, sort of –, but it was only because the other guy pretended as if nothing had happened. Oliver had been hurt and, naturally, they drifted apart. He tried to speak to his parents about it, in a hypothetical sort of way. In retrospect, he didn’t know how that idea even crossed his mind. That’s when his parents expressed their strong disapproval – disgust, even – of such things. That was when he willingly decided to hide a part of himself because he knew, if his parents and best friend (ex best friend) were anything to go by, it wouldn’t be something taken gracefully and acceptingly by others.

 

Naturally, after the days kept going and Elio and Oliver couldn’t get past simple pleasantries such as “good morning”, he was going crazy. If one thing remained the same within him, was his need to avoid as much conflict and uncertainty as possible. Granted, sometimes he went about those things the wrong way, but his intention was what mattered. He had to speak to Elio. Maybe he wouldn’t be able to say what he wanted, maybe he would complicate things further spilling half-truths only, but something – anything – needed to be done. That moment, he decided he’d speak to Elio the morning after. He went to town, played poker, and had more drinks than were necessary. When he made it back to the villa, he was more than a little tipsy. He went inside his room trying to make as little noise as possible, trying to be stealth but failing miserably. He knocked off a pile of clothes Mafalda had folded on top of the drawers, and then knocked off a book when he made it to the desk. He was about to pick the book from the floor when he saw a folded piece of paper. _Huh_ , he mused to himself. Clothes and book long forgotten, he grabbed the paper and opened it. To say he was a little surprised when he read it is an understatement. Across the lined, rugged piece of paper was scribbled:

_Can’t stand the silence. I need to speak to you._

Oliver always thought he and Elio where somehow synchronized, wired the same way… and this was proof enough of it. As he kept rereading the note, he came to realize those were pretty much the exact thoughts that had been bouncing off in his head, thoughts put out into paper, thrown out there for everyone – no, not everyone, only him, Elio wanted, _needed_ , to speak to Oliver only – to see. Even when Elio was clueless as to Oliver’s, well, _real_ intensions, he’d thought they were on the same wavelength. He wasn’t wrong. Even so, he admired the younger. He was able to speak out, to reach when needed. He had a drive that could make him do whatever it took to get what he wanted. Sometimes, Oliver wished he could be half the person Elio was. Although, maybe he was.

He fumbled through the desk for a pen and wrote, just underneath Elio’s handwriting, _Grow up. I’ll see you at midnight._ In all honesty, that grow up was more meant for himself than it ever was for Elio.

The next morning, when he was certain Elio had gone downstairs for breakfast, he slipped into the younger’s room and placed the answered note on top of the desk. He needed to make sure Elio would see it easily. After that, he went down for breakfast to join the others and everything was pretty much the same.

“Good morning Professor, Annella,” said Oliver with a casual smile. As an afterthought, he added, “Elio,” but he wasn’t looking at him when he said his name. He failed to see the nervous twitch gracing Elio’s entire being.

They spoke about this and that, bantered and whatnot. Oliver had no work from the Professor today, so he’d decided to be out of the villa all day. He was anxious – eager, maybe – and felt nauseous. What if Elio never saw the note? Or worse, what if Elio saw it and decided to ignore it, not meeting him at midnight? Oliver would surely lose his resolve – if you could even call it that. He’d said he’d speak to Elio first, but when he received the note, deep down he knew he was waiting for the younger to make the first move. And that he did; he was grateful for it. If it would have been some girl – more like anyone _but_ Elio –, he’d have no clams whatsoever, would have spoken right at the moment he’d wanted to, would have probably spoken his mind instantly. But this was a boy. _This was Elio_. Breakfast was done and over-with and, with a careless “Later!”, Oliver was outside, riding his bike to town.

 

He spent all day doing nothing interesting: riding his bike, eating at a café near the plaza, riding his bike some more… he even sped by Monet’s berm, but didn’t dare stop; he just kept going. It was about 10:35 PM when he decided to call it a night and, after two glasses of wine, made his way back to the villa. If earlier that day he’d been nervous, it was nothing compared to how he was feeling the moment he stepped into the house. Without so much as a glance, Oliver went upstairs into his room. Elio had been playing a beautiful piece on the piano, delighting the night’s guests.

It was slowly nearing midnight, and his anxiousness only kept growing. He wasn’t sure of what to expect. Objectively, they were meant to talk, maybe. But what was there to talk about that wasn’t already dreadfully obvious? It would be embarrassing, painful even, for him to state the obvious. He was second guessing himself again. Before he would go on in yet another spiral of self-doubt and self-loathing, Oliver decided to smoke; a joint would surely appease him, if only a little. After the first few drags, he started being honest with himself. This was clearly not an invitation to talk, because if it was, he would’ve told Elio to meet him at a more decent hour, not midnight. Maybe they did need to talk, but it was going to be a talk concerning what was about to unfold. He knew what this was, where the night would be surely going. And, more importantly, he knew Elio knew. He wasn’t dumb. In the end, even if Elio took the initiative, it would be Oliver who took the grand leap. The bigger part of him wanted to back out immediately. He’d never really thought about was about to happen – not because he didn’t want to, but because he never went down that path in fear of irrevocably getting out of line. Sex with another dude? Scandalous. Wrong. Immoral. Wrong. Filthy. Wrong. Yet, there was nothing he desired more.

He went outside to the balcony shared by both of their rooms. A few minutes later, he heard noises from the bathroom. _So, Elio finally made his way upstairs_ , he thought. He took another drag. _Calm down, Oliver, calm down_. He felt Elio’s presence before he even heard or saw anything.

“I’m so glad you came,” Oliver said before he could even catch himself. Elio didn’t hesitate, either, when his answer came, “of course I was coming.” _Good_. The older then turned to his left to get a good look of Elio. He looked half as nervous as Oliver felt; he was fidgeting, playing with his fingers – but Oliver wasn’t doing much better. At that very moment, Oliver couldn’t, for the life of him, pretend as if everything was normal and casual; he was fidgeting, too. He couldn’t get a grasp of his cool or his fake confidence. He felt raw and a little exposed, even if Elio wasn’t looking at him because he was too busy biting on his nails. A nervous habit, he supposed. Oliver took another drag and stared right ahead, to the horizon. The moon looked beautiful that night, casting a blueish light all over the place.

“I’m nervous,” said Elio with a slight sigh, placing his hands on the railing of the balcony.

Oliver turned to him again, and spoke honestly, “me too.” _You have no idea_ , he thought. He then placed his left hand atop Elio’s right, caressing his knuckles lightly. He could do this.

“Me more than you.”

The older didn’t know what to respond, so he just smiled, though awkwardly, and led them inside. He wasn’t going to let Elio know that _he_ actually had the upper hand, not Oliver. They made their way to Oliver’s – Elio’s – bed and, before he put it out, Elio motioned to the joint, taking one long drag before putting it out himself. He saw all sorts of emotions on Elio’s face at once before he glanced up at Oliver and, with little doubt, _bit his shoulder_. He stared at the younger with a little smile.

“You okay?”

Elio hesitated, but answered surely nonetheless, “me okay.”

Oliver’s smile broadened. He was starting to feel more at ease, slightly more comfortable, confident even. Elio, on the other hand, still looked restless. He walked through the room a little, looking at the walls, the floor, anything but Oliver. Then, he came back to him, and pressed his head firmly to the older’s chest. Oliver encompassed Elio in a hug, holding the back of his head and his waist, more out of instinct than anything. Elio fumbled a little, but, soon enough, he was clinging to Oliver for dear life, placing his arms around his neck, hugging tightly. Oliver let out a gleeful laugh and held on tighter. The hug seemed to last an eternity, and it was the best each could offer to convey their feelings. Slowly, the older ran his nose through the younger’s neck, taking in his scent. Suddenly, Oliver couldn’t wait any longer.

“Can I kiss you?”

“Yes, please,” came Elio’s instant answer.

He smiled at Elio and gently grabbed his face with both hands. He first kissed his left cheek, then his left eyelid, his forehead. Oliver was thoroughly enjoying the quiet, tender, yet playful moment they were having. He suddenly felt giddy with anticipation. He continued kissing Elio all over his face, his neck, leaving behind soft touches wherever his hands could freely travel. Somehow, they made it to the bed, both sitting by the edge, side by side. Oliver couldn’t help but stare at Elio with a look of adoration in place; he was glad Elio was too preoccupied looking at his feet to even notice. A few beats of silence passed before Elio’s toes inched their way to Oliver’s. The younger softly placed his right foot on top of Oliver’s left. Oliver couldn’t stop himself when he asked, “what are you doing?” with a little laugh in his tone. Oliver could have described Elio with an endless list of adjectives, but he had never once considered “cute” to be one of them until that very moment.

“Nothing,” came Elio’s answer.

Oliver placed his other foot on top of Elio’s, and caressed his toes lightly. Something as little and insignificant as that exchange made Oliver infinitely happy. He wondered if Elio felt something like that, too. “Does this make you happy?”

Elio nodded heavily. Elio was exuding anxiousness and looked a little pale; he appeared to be more nervous than he initially was. Confident douche Oliver kicked in, trying to make a joke to lighten the mood. “You’re not going to get a nosebleed on me, are you?”

Elio frowned and responded, “I’m not gonna get a nosebleed,” as he straddled Oliver’s thighs. Oliver sighed deeply while running his hands all over Elio’s back; his hands were everywhere. After a few seconds of roaming hands everywhere, they _properly_ kissed. Elio’s lips were as soft as he remembered from days prior, and with just a simple grace, Oliver knew he could never get enough. He needed to start ridding Elio of his clothes. He kept kissing the younger until he pulled back and started taking off his own shirt, as if reading Oliver’s mind. He was having a little trouble, though, so Oliver gladly helped him out while fervently whispering, “off, off, off, off, off.” He was already losing himself in the moment. As soon as Elio’s shirt was out of the way, he kissed his tummy almost reverently. Dismissing all the denying that had been going on inside his head for about 10 years, Oliver couldn’t believe he had been missing on _this_ the whole time. They were just getting started, and he knew, _he just knew_ , this was going to be an experience like no other. Especially because this wasn’t some nameless girl, some random dude, or some guy who would inherently reject him; this was Elio.

That night, Oliver and Elio lost themselves in each other, being connected in the most intimate of ways. One wouldn’t be able to tell where one ended and the other begun. They kissed and kissed, hands and mouths exploring everywhere and anywhere they could. That night, they made love, and Oliver had never felt something so right in his life.

**Author's Note:**

> hopefully i'll finish this whole thing by this week or the next, it'll have 1 or 2 more chapters!
> 
> also... should i write more short stories on this universe or should i write more on the [Can’t stop thinking of you (wherever you are)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18293147) universe? if you've read both, let me know what you'd prefer, please?


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